


Flayed

by larkscape



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Gore, Inappropriate use of human skin, M/M, flaying, scalpels, serial killers in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 04:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkscape/pseuds/larkscape
Summary: Victor is better at the hunt, but Yuuri has the artistry with the blades.





	Flayed

**Author's Note:**

> Yuuri is exactly the sort of asshole who would forget his victim's name and just make a new one up every few moments.
> 
> Mind the tags; this is very violent.

Victor is better at the hunt, but Yuuri has the artistry with the blades. He spreads out his scalpel kit on the nightstand, glinting silver instruments bright against the black canvas they’re nestled in, and selects a nice No. 22, curved just right for the first cut. The man on the bed (Tom? Trevor? something unapologetically American, anyway) has lost his voice. All that escapes him now are whistling breaths, fast through his nose above the duct tape. His eyes are rolling wildly, whites visible all the way round, but Victor was thorough with the tape and he can’t do much more than twist his head. Yuuri thinks he looks like a spooked horse.

It’s okay. He’ll calm down shortly. Massive blood loss is very good for that.

Victor is lounged across the only chair in the hotel room, one leg tossed over the arm in a pose that hopelessly rumples his fine wool slacks. Not that they weren’t in line to be ruined anyway; Victor’s fly is down and he’s lazily stroking his cock as he watches Yuuri sort his tools.

“Show me your eros, Yuuri,” he says, low. “Carve it into him so I can see.”

Yuuri leans over Travis with his chosen scalpel and pauses to look at Victor over his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare take your eyes off me.”

Victor smiles like a panther. Yuuri licks his lips.

He slides the blade gently through the skin over Tyler’s breastbone. Blood wells up and spills down the curve of ribs to soak into the hotel bedding. Yuuri maintains his tools with fanatical devotion; the scalpel slices down over the sternum with almost no resistance. It bites deep once he’s past the ribcage.

Oh, would you listen to that. Teddy hasn’t lost his voice after all.

Yuuri carves his skin neatly. First a long line down the belly, skirting to one side of the penis and testicles, carefully avoiding piercing the abdominal wall. No need for that kind of mess. Todd screeches (where is he getting all this volume from?) and tries to buck, but Yuuri gentles him with a hand to his chest.

Oops. That was right over the incision Yuuri just made. Guess it must’ve hurt, Theo, sorry.

Yuuri should distract him. Bringing the pain elsewhere is distracting, right? He leans back up to cut across from one elbow to the other. A ring around each wrist, like ruby bracelets. There’s a single ragged spot on the inside of one bicep, where Tucker managed to get some leverage with his shoulder and distort the perfect line of Yuuri’s blade. The torn edge is almost invisible in the red blood sheeting over it, one slightly darker corner in the sweep of split skin.

Yuuri can feel Victor’s eyes on him, burning. He leans back to gauge his work so far. Tanner’s bloody chest is heaving, which makes it difficult to judge how straight the lines are, but Yuuri thinks he’s done well.

“Try the 15C, Yuuri.”

“Ah, yes, that’s perfect. Thank you, Victor.” Yuuri leans to pluck the smaller 15C blade from his kit, twisting and stretching to show off the line of his back. Victor appreciates little touches like that.

With the new blade, Yuuri makes delicate slices up the inside of each leg where the skin is soft and thin. Tyson bucks again, so Yuuri lifts his blade and settles his knee on the recalcitrant thigh, digging into the muscle until the struggling stops, then sets back to his work. The scalpel leaves pretty red anklets just above the jut of Trent’s ankle bones. Yuuri runs one fingertip along the line to collect the dark beads of blood, then turns to Victor and licks his finger. Victor blows out a breath, pupils visibly dilating in the sea blue of his eyes, and grips his cock tighter in his long, lovely fingers. Yuuri hums, pleased with the effect.

All the cuts are finished. Now Yuuri just needs to remove the hide. He peels back the layers carefully, pinning each of Tate’s desperately twisting limbs into stillness with his body as he goes; human skin is so much more fragile than the type that grows fur, so much more prone to microtears. Every square centimeter that comes up in Yuuri’s fingers is lifted with exacting care, a slow progression of dermis and fat separating from the weeping tissue beneath.

It’s delicate work, and Victor deserves the best Yuuri can give him.

By the end of the first half, when Yuuri has pulled back everything he can without flipping him over, Tony’s futile wriggling has slowed to little more than feeble twitches and the bed is soaked in red. (See? Oh ye of little faith; massive blood loss is  _ wonderful  _ for calming people down.) Victor helps turn Taylor onto his front, holding his arms still so Yuuri can lift the skin from the broad spread of his shoulders.

When he’s done, Yuuri spreads the skin out on the hotel floor, still warm and bloody, so Victor can fuck him on it to the sound of Timothy’s last rattling breaths. Their knees slip in the gore. Fat deposits still cling to the bloody side — Yuuri could have trimmed it more closely, but he was impatient for Victor’s cock. Using the scalpels always makes him horny.

Yuuri will have to buy Victor new pants after this; the wool slacks still hanging around his thighs are unsalvageable, blood and fat and lymph fluid soaked into the fibers, hopelessly stained. It’s worth it to feel the frantic way Victor pounds into him. He will certainly have finger-shaped bruises on his hips again, layered over the fading purple and yellow of the last set Victor pressed into him. He likes to look at them in the full-length mirror on the wall. Every mark is further evidence of Victor’s devotion.

Victor snaps his hips forward at just the right angle and Yuuri cries out, his spine arching with pleasure. His hands slip on their new Terry-skin rug. Victor tips forward and catches him with an arm around his waist to keep him from dropping face-first into the gore below them, then wraps his teeth around the muscle at the junction of Yuuri’s neck and shoulder.

Warmth floods through Yuuri. He feels owned, possessed, cradled in Victor’s hold and filled with his cock. It’s one of his favorite feelings, tied only with the fierce, proprietorial satisfaction of watching Victor charm their next victim up to their hotel room, or the thrill of fucking him open in front of their hotel windows, staring down at the traffic below and just waiting for someone to look up and see how artfully Yuuri arranges Victor’s beautiful body.

Yuuri owns Victor just as much as Victor owns him. Mutual possession. He tightens around Victor at the thought, covetous, greedy.

Victor bites harder into Yuuri’s shoulder as his hips slam forward and grind, his cock pulsing with orgasm. Yuuri imagines he can feel the come spilling inside him and the idea tips him over the edge into his own climax, painting white across the ruby mess of blood and butchery under him. His favorite kind of abstract painting. Maybe he should frame it — Victor would like that.

They’re only two weeks and three victims into their trek. The future spreads before Yuuri, lush with five-star hotel rooms and Victor’s favorite restaurants and the thrill of cornering prey in dark alleys. Exploring new cities with Victor’s hand tight in his own. Fucking frantic and loud, or slow and languorous, or slick with someone else’s blood on soft sheets, and always Victor’s eyes on him, only him.

This road trip was a fantastic idea.


End file.
